


Stormy Night

by jojothecr



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: F/M, M/M, Past Jensen/Danneel, Written in 2009
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-29
Updated: 2011-08-29
Packaged: 2017-10-23 05:34:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/246791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jojothecr/pseuds/jojothecr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen. Jared. Storm.<br/><em>"I just want you near me. What's wrong with that?" Jared asks innocently...</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Stormy Night

Storm rules the late spring night, painting zigzags of white and blue flashes all across the pitch black sky, with the rhythm of the thundering orchestra that silences Jared’s steps, and the creaking of the wooden stairs under his feet, it shakes the building to its very foundations. The small dots of the spotlights illuminating the stairs flicker beside Jared’s head with the power of the next bolt, threatening to plunge the whole house into darkness.

Stepping across the two sprawled bodies of his dogs, which are fast asleep and completely oblivious to their surroundings, as well as to the loud noises that could wake up a corpse, Jared frowns confusedly when he notices the streak of light coming from the kitchen. It means that he either forgot to turn off the lights before he dragged his beaten up body to bed more than two hours ago or, and this is more likely, the storm has awoken a dead man, namely Jensen.

Unsuccessfully withholding a yawn, Jared enters the kitchen with the squeak of the linoleum underneath his feet, and then blinks into the acid light from the spot above the kitchen unit, barely noticing Jensen’s figure huddled at the kitchen table.

At that moment, pale yellow lightning strikes through the garden and Jared can feel the light behind his back, illuminating his figure and flaring the whole space of the hallway. Jensen jumps at his appearance, which is then topped by the obstreperous thunder that follows and quivers the floor under their feet.

“Hahaha,” Jared laughs at Jensen’s rattled expression, shambling along to the fridge. “You _so_ jumped.”

“Did not!” Jensen protests with an aggrieved scowl, gathering the sheets of paper he has spread upon the table.

“Did too,” Jared returns, searching the contents of the fridge for a bottle of mineral water. Grabbing the chilled plastic, he pushes the door closed with his hip, and walks over where Jensen sits; one bare foot resting on the bar of the opposite chair, his outstretched arm propped up on his knee, his fingers absently rolling a crayon between them.

“Did not,” Jensen insists. “I don’t jump.”

“Hu-huh.”

“I might have jerked,” he admits eventually. “A bit.”

“A lot,” Jared elaborates as he pulls a chair from the table and turns it around, slumping down on it and folding his arms on the backrest. “Kinda wild tonight, hm?”

“That’s... an understatement.”

Jared nods, scanning the papers in Jensen’s hands with a curious eye. “What you’re doin’ anyway, readin’ a script ahead? What, you’re tryin’ to be better than me?” He chuckles, grabbing for the papers, and nearly falls forward, face down on the floor, when Jensen unexpectedly yanks his hand back. His fingers have closed around the sheaf though, and he pulls at it stubbornly.

“Not that I really need to try,” Jensen utters ironically, grabbing for Jared’s hand and struggling to pry the paper out of his hold. “But give it back.”

“Now, now, now,” Jared laughs, keeping the papers at safe distance from Jensen’s fumbling fingers.

“Give it!” Jensen hisses, scowling when Jared refuses to follow his request.

Frowning at Jensen’s vehement effort to get back the script, which isn’t, or shouldn’t be, any different than the one sitting on Jared’s nightstand, underneath yesterday’s mail and two piles of Dogs’ magazines, Jared flips through the pages quickly, inquiringly, until a single paper flutters down onto the table. He picks it up before Jensen can, and his eyes widen in surprise. He looks questioningly up at Jensen, who looks away quickly and drops his gaze, suddenly highly determined to get rid of the smear of graphite remaining on his fingers.

“Jen, this is fantastic,” Jared breathes in awe, carefully tracing with the tips of his fingers the outlines of his own face sketched in pencil.

“It’s nothing,” Jensen mumbles, a soft haze of embarrassment tainting his cheeks.

“Nothing, huh?” Jared repeats, eyeing Jensen doubtfully. “I’d give my kidney to be able to do ‘nothing’ like this... I didn’t know you could draw.”

“Me neither. I just tried,” Jensen shrugs, still deliberately avoiding Jared’s eyes. “Anyway, it’s just a rough sketch.”

“Exactly. Just imagine when you finish it.”

“ _If_ I ever finish it,” Jensen corrects.

“You will. I’ll make you.”

Jensen arches his eyebrow inquisitively, “That so?”

“That’s so,” Jared confirms. His eyes linger on Jensen’s face almost unconsciously as he shakes his head, once again stunned and surprised by the man in front of him, whom he thought he knew. He knows bits of his life, small pieces of this huge, complicated jigsaw puzzle that is Jensen – he knows what kind of coffee he likes, his favourite brand of beer, candy that even Jensen can’t resist. Knows from where he borrows the fear and pain he pours into Dean’s emotions and tears, in what position he falls asleep, which song will make him sing along and drum his fingers on the steering-wheel, and which one he’ll cut off after the first few beats – and it still isn’t enough.

Jensen frowns and fidgets under Jared’s intense, unwavering gaze, “What?”

“Nothin’.,” Jared smiles, rolling the bottle of water in between his fingers mindlessly. “I’m just... You never stop amazin' me. Just when I start to believe that I know you, that I’ve peeled off every layer... there’s always a new, unexpected one.”

“I’m like an Ogre, huh?” Jensen smirks as he stands up. “Or onion?” He starts when another flash strikes and loud thunder shakes the window, and Jared laughs anew.

“I also didn’t know that you’re scared of storms.”

“I’m not scared of storms,” Jensen objects, walking over to the window where, behind the trembling glass, nature unwinds a performance with expensive special effects, drawing colourful bolts all across the night sky. “I respect them,” he explains seriously as he reaches out to touch the windowpane, as though to feel the shine of white, yellow and blue. “I know what they’re capable of, and I... respect them.”

“Hey,” Jared states with an amused grin. “Whatever it takes to get you through the night, pal.”

“It’s fascinatin’.”

“It definitely is,” Jared smiles as he rises from the table, heading over to where Jensen’s standing. Although he’s frankly more fascinated by the phenomenon of the storm, the random, glimmering light that illuminates Jensen’s whole figure makes him look almost inhuman and spirit-like, even more so than the storm itself.

The moment Jared gets closer is the second when Jensen decides to step back, shoving his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants and moving past Jared. “I-I should go sleep,” he mumbles quietly.

“Jen.” Jared stops him with a hand settled on his waist. His voice is slightly husky and pleading, and Jensen stops. He looks confusedly at the long fingers resting on his hip, and then drags his eyes up to Jared’s face.

“Maybe _I_ am scared,” Jared suggests, sounding so earnest, he nearly believes it himself. “And need somebody to hold my hand.”

“You can do better.”

“I just want you near me. What’s wrong with that?” He asks innocently.

Jensen closes his eyes briefly and heaves a sigh. “Theoretically, nothing. Practically...” He waves his hand in an eloquent gesture, letting the ‘everything’ just hang in the air, unspoken and heavy like the stormy clouds.

“Stay with me tonight,” Jared pleads like he didn’t hear. Like he just couldn’t care less about the boundaries that Jensen’s words try to build.

“Jared, I... I told you...”

“That you can’t move on until you settle it with Danneel,” Jared declaims the maybe too many times repeated formula. “And you can’t do that over the phone, I know. I got it. I understand... I’m not askin’ you to marry me... And I’m not tryin’ to push you into anything either. I can wait. And you know I will, I’m just—“ He draws back, letting his arms fall to his sides helplessly, and then clenches his hands into fists with frustration he struggles to keep inside. He looks out of the window, silently watching the wonders of nature for a while, searching his heart for what it wants, and his mind for the right words as to how to capture it. “I miss you... I guess I just want - need to know that you want me to wait.” He turns to look back at Jensen, who glances up from the tiled floor. “That you want us. One day. You’ve been so distant lately that I’m... not sure anymore.”

Jensen is quiet for a moment, seconds. A minute. Then, just when Jared’s starting to believe he’s literally been thunderstruck, Jensen takes in a long breath. “I want you to wait,” he says softly, while his eyes practically scream the wish out loud. “And... if I’m bein’ distant, it’s only ‘cause I...”

“’Cause you...?” Jared prompts, slightly impatient when Jensen pauses again.

Jensen steps closer and grabs the hem of Jared’s T-shirt, curling his fingers in the worn-out fabric and tugging Jared to him. “’Cause I want you,” he whispers. “I want you so fuckin’ bad it drives me crazy. Every time you get close, I only want you closer.” He looks up, finding Jared’s darkened eyes settled upon him, hopeful and curious. “I want more. Want everything... with you, but... not now. Not yet.”

“Okay.” Jared nods; his acceptance and understanding leaving Jensen a wee bit baffled.

“Okay?” He asks amusedly, arching his eyebrow in confusion.

“Okay,” Jared smiles simply. Then frowns at Jensen’s intense, inquisitive look. “What?”

Jensen reaches out to touch the top of Jared’s head, tapping his fingers over the dark, smooth strands with a deeply concentrated expression on his face, like he was looking for fleas or something.

“Jen, what you’re doin’?”

“Lookin’ for a halo.”

“In my back pocket,” Jared cues.

Jensen tilts his head to the side doubtfully, but he releases his grip on Jared’s T-shirt, and shifts his hand over Jared’s taut stomach and to the small of his back. He slides his hand lower feeling for the pocket of Jared’s sweatpants.

“You don’t have a back pocket,” Jensen notes reproachfully, wrinkling his forehead with very, _very_ , unlovely lines of unshared amusement.

“My bad,” Jared shrugs innocently. He clasps Jensen’s wrist in his fingers, pinning it there before Jensen can pull his hand back, and rests his other hand on Jensen’s hip, dragging him nearer.

Jensen stumbles forward, almost involuntarily, and looks up at Jared in slight panic as he leans in. Slowly. As though Jensen is some wild, fragile animal that needs to be handled with care. Some rare species of butterfly, which even the gentlest touch would dust off the magical pollen of its wings, and forever prevent it from flying.

Jared knows that Jensen is anything but fragile, can feel the strength in the tensed muscles underneath his fingertips, but he can’t really help himself. It’s the freckles, the unbelievably long and thick eyelashes which make Jensen look much younger. It’s the difference in their height and weight that urges Jared to look after him, to take care of him, even when Jensen rebels and vehemently protests.

“Jay,” Jensen breathes out startled, tickling Jared’s lips with the warm puffs of his breath, tainted with the sweet taste of oranges and strawberries, and God knows what from the multivitamin juice Jared spotted in the fridge earlier.

“Shhhh,” Jared hushes, brushing his lips against Jensen’s ever so slightly. Only as a pledge of more to come, his somewhat raspy voice detailing what he really wants, and just how much. “I’m not gonna bite you.”

“I-I know.” Jensen replies, with a little jerk of his head as confirmation. His words sound strangled, breathless and as though, if Jared was a vampire and wanted to sink his sharp teeth into the pulsating artery in Jensen’s throat and suck the vital liquid out of his veins, it would scare him less.

Jensen’s lips are warm underneath Jared’s, dry and plump, and refusing to open up. Pushing his tongue against Jensen’s firmly closed lips, Jared growls with frustration when they stay closed.

“Give it up, Jen,” he instigates against Jensen’s mouth, pushing his hand up and underneath Jensen’s T-shirt. “You know you want to.”

“I shouldn’t,” Jensen beeps breathily and rather helplessly, like he wished Jared had enough strength to stop it for both of them. “I shouldn’t want Jay.”

“It’s just a kiss.”

“Nothing is _just_.” Jensen protests. “Nothing _between us_ is _just_.”

“Right,” Jared nods haltingly and disappointedly, because he knows that Jensen’s right.

“Screw this,” Jensen mutters, before he steps onto his tiptoes and winds his free arm around Jared’s neck, parting his lips for Jared’s tongue. He sighs at the contact, and Jared shudders, feeling his knees go weak. Overwhelmed, just like the first time, with the very first kiss.

Back then it had smelt and tasted like rain. It was a cloudburst, with an expanse of grey above them and something unspoken, fathomless in between. Neither really remembers who took the first step, but someone did, and then they were kissing. And it felt good. _Damn_ good.

Now Jensen tastes like tropical fruits, underscored with a faint flavour of coconut lingering on his tongue, and Jared realizes that kissing him was a bad, _really_ bad, idea. One taste is all it takes. It’s not enough, never could be. Jensen’s close, the closest he can be with a few layers of clothing and one unfinished relationship in between them, but it’s not near enough. It’s like a bite of the richest, most delicious chocolate. One tiny nip that doesn’t satisfy, not even a little, only stimulates taste buds and leaves a real hunger and thirst for more.

“Ouch,” Jensen yelps when Jared presses their bodies closer still and subsequently pushes Jensen further backward.

“S’up?” He asks as he steps back, panicked.

“I’ve got the freakin’ window sill stickin’ in my back.”

“Oh.” Jared sighs sympathetically. Then he simply gathers Jensen up into his arms, lifts him up, and onto the stone-ware window-sill.

“Ugh!”

“Better?” Jared asks, entirely ignoring Jensen’s dangerously narrowed eyes.

“You know,” Jensen starts seriously, raising his index finger to emphasize his point. “You really gotta stop doin’ this. ‘Cause I am not a damsel in distress. And I’m not made of porcelain. And I don’t wear a sticker sayin’: _Fragile. Handle with c_ \--” Jensen’s long speech of grievance gets lost on Jared’s tongue, which slips into his mouth, silencing him abruptly and effectively, and he closes his eyes, giving up his tries to reshape his soon-to-be boyfriend, and giving in to the temptation he offers. He slips his hands down Jared’s back and cups his firm butt, struggling to get him even closer, completely oblivious to the tremble bearing into the cold window behind his back.

A sudden clash of thunder echoes through the quiet house a moment later, like an ultimate, and very unexpected, warning from above. Jared jerks, grazing the tender skin of Jensen’s bottom lip with his teeth. Jensen hisses, and then moans when the tip of Jared’s tongue gently and carefully soothes the injured, oversensitive spot.

“’m okay,” Jensen says sleepily as he lets his head thud against the window.

Struggling to regain his normal breathing, Jared rests his head on Jensen’s shoulder and closes his eyes, mindlessly stroking Jensen’s hipbones with his thumbs.

Jensen’s fingers toy with Jared’s hair as he ponders aloud. “The shootin’ ends in a few weeks. Once we’re free, I’ll fly to L.A. and talk to her. I think she knows... suspects. Maybe it’s already finished for her, maybe we’ve never even been... maybe she’s... maybe I-I-”

“Jens,” Jared quietly interrupts Jensen’s nonsensical babbling. “It’s okay.

“I just can’t – I can’t move on with you until we’re... over. _Officially_ over.”

“Sounds fair,” Jared replies calmly.

“Fair to whom? It’s not fair to her. Nor to you.”

Jared straightens up to look at Jensen, who’s staring back at him with a guilty, slightly bewildered expression in his eyes. “Jensen, I spent the last year and a half convinced that you didn’t love me. Not as anything more than a good friend. I was sure that I was, and always would be, alone in this... so believe me when I say that I’ll wait for you. A few weeks, or a few months, I’ll still be here.”

Jensen swallows hard, like when Dean’s fighting to keep his tears at bay and under control, and then he smiles softly. “Thank you,” he whispers. And it’s so sincere and thankful that Jared can only smile back. “You’re welcome.”


End file.
